


a land so wild and savage

by Fiction_Over_Fact



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-18 15:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18702046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiction_Over_Fact/pseuds/Fiction_Over_Fact
Summary: “Is it really stalking if you know about it?” Izuna wonders, but doesn’t wait for him to answer, just shoots him a shameless grin. “Anyway, I’m just doing my job.”“Your job?” Tobirama looks away from the thin crowds of people around them—the cold weather putting off most prospective loiterers—to frown at him.Izuna tugs at his copy of the Earring of Whisper they all wear, the little silver hoop glinting in the sunlight for a moment before they turn another corner. “Madara heard you leaving your room this morning and insisted to me very loudly that,” he deepens his voice into a grumbling drawl that sounds precisely nothing like his brother, “the squishy wizard shouldn’t be out by himself. He’ll die. Again.”





	a land so wild and savage

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, fantasy AU in this context is basically my code for "they're dnd characters but you don't need to worry about it." (Seriously, you don't need to have any dnd knowledge to know what's going on in the fic, I promise! If you do have it you'll catch some references but that's basically it.)  
> The title is a lyric from the Stan Rogers' song "Northwest Passage" because this fic was originally going to be a bit more nautical than it turned out to be but oh well what the hell, I like it anyway

Tobirama stretches for the top of the bookshelf, hissing when the move pulls on the aching muscles in his good arm. “Ow.”

(Really, it was only his slightly-better-arm but what Mito and Hashirama didn’t know they couldn’t guilt trip him about. Besides, there had been better things for them to use their magic on last night.)

“Don’t fall on top of me,” Izuna warns, interrupting himself with a long, squeaking yawn. His voice is low, for once using the book appropriate volume Tobirama and Mito have been trying to drill into his head for three years. He’s also pressed face first into one of the store’s long rugs, which doesn’t help matters. “I’m tired but I _will_ stab you.”

“Falling on your bony ass probably counts as a stabbing,” Tobirama grumbles back, scooting forward even further into the shelf. His fingertips brush the leather spine of the book he’d been eyeing. Not close enough. He sighs. “Why couldn’t you be taller?”

Izuna snorts into the carpet.

“I ask myself that question every day. Mostly, I just blame Madara.”

“He’s not tall either.”

“He’s tall _enough_ ,” Izuna says, with unexpected venom that Tobirama is, frankly, not invested enough to question him about. “Anyway, when can we leave?”

“You can leave at any time,” Tobirama points out because he certainly hadn’t _asked_ Izuna to come with him. He’d left the inn quietly first thing in the morning entirely because he’d figured no one would be awake to follow him. Though awake is probably too strong a word for Izuna, currently. _“_ You could have stayed at the inn with the others, even.”

Izuna yawns again as he levers himself up from the floor, his jaw cracking loud enough that Tobirama winces.

“And they would have all been asleep and I still would have been booored,” he manages and then, “Don’t roll your eyes at my suffering.” He pokes a finger into Tobirama’s cheek once, twice, three times.

“ You think you are the one suffering right now?” Tobirama asks because _no_ , but Izuna ignores him and continues poking him in the face.

It’s apparently more entertaining than the thirty minutes he’d spent trying to give himself a concussion on the shelf or his failed attempt at napping on the floor because he doesn’t speak up again as Tobirama finally manages to pull down the book and tries to edge out of his reach.

Izuna and his finger, undeterred, follow.

Tobirama considers his options— _Izuna complaining aloud or Izuna poking him but being quiet—_ and leaves him to it, opting to crack the book open instead. The binding creaks a little and he takes a deep breath, enjoying the smell of old paper.

 _ _Knowledge__ , it whispers. __Secrets__.

It’s entrancing, enough so that it makes him relax for the first time in too many days—despite the poking finger and his own aching ribs and neck and the memory of fire and blood and the sickening wet _crunch—_

It had been a very long week.

A good book would do well in making up for it.

After a few minutes, the poking moves from his cheek to his neck, catching the edge of the thick, blue-black bruise wrapped around his throat—a firm reminder of the reason he was not a close combat fighter.

“ _Izuna_ ,” Tobirama flinches, pushing the hand away and covering the bruise with his own. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Izuna lift his hands up, fingers spread wide. “Well, that’s a little aggressive.” __Look__ _,_ his face says, _ _I’m not doing anything__ _._ A bold claim, as Izuna was one of the least innocent people Tobirama had ever met. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“That didn’t feel like talking.” Tobirama adjusts his scarf, pointedly letting the top of one of the bruise’s fingers poke out from the cloth. 

It’s not hard to do.

Goliath hands were quite large compared to the average human throat.

Izuna winces at the sight of the bruise, the reminder of one of their latest close calls, but it doesn’t stop him. "You were ignoring me though, and besides, I could’ve __actually__ stabbed you,” he offers, like that isn’t one of the worst justifications Tobirama has ever heard him make. Izuna eyes his glare for a moment before he reconsiders. “Alright, maybe next time I’ll ask first.”

"If you kill me after Mito put so much effort into keeping me alive, she will _not_ be pleased,” he points out and Izuna shudders, stepping away.

“I was just wondering when we could head back to the inn,” Izuna whines, “You don’t need to threaten me with your sister-in-law.”

“Really? It sounded like you were complaining.”

Izuna huffs. “I’ve never complained about anything.”

A weighted pause.

“ _Ever_.”

Tobirama rolls his eyes again. That was a lie if he’d ever heard one. “What were you __not__ complaining about then?” He squints at a figure in the book and turns it in his hands, careful of the thin patches in its worn binding.

The diagram is narrow but tall, enough so that it had been drawn across two pages, rather than compressed down onto one. Its interior is riddled with small intricacies, sigils that twist and curve, winding in and through each other—the kinds of details that would have been lost if downsized. Tobirama runs a finger down one of the lines of runes within it, listening to Izuna with half an ear.

“I told you, it’s just that I miss our _dear_ friends and my _only_ beloved brother so very much, I hope we’ll get to see them again soon,” Izuna says, with such greatly exaggerated emotion that Tobirama can’t help but snicker. His laughter only makes Izuna more dramatic. “How dare you make light of my concerns!”

"If you're that worried you can head back without me," he offers, glancing up at Izuna over the top of the book, watching his expression sour. “I’m sure Madara would be very happy to have you bouncing around our room while he tries to sleep.”

Madara would __not__ , and they both knew it.

Izuna shuffles his feet through the carpet, grumbling wordlessly under his breath.

“You’re a child,” Tobirama tells him. “The body of a grown man inhabited by the soul of a five-year-old.”

“ _I_ am incredibly charming,” Izuna corrects. He buffs his nails against the front of his coat and sniffs haughtily, an impression that encompasses far too many of the nobles they’ve met during their travels. “Everyone loves me.”

The act pairs awkwardly with his smoke-stained clothing and the dark bags under his eyes, but it still makes the corners of Tobirama’s mouth twitch up. He leans closer into the book to hide his face, flipping through a few more pages at greater speed.

Most of the runes are familiar as elements from some of his own spells or at least share common linguistic design trends to symbols he knows. Others are completely and enticingly foreign, riddled in among coded passages and scrawled notes. This is not the kind of thing that belongs in a bookstore.

Intriguing.

 _Knowledge_ , something in him whispers. _Secrets._

Decision made, Tobirama shuts the book with a gentle snap and tucks it underneath his arm with the others before heading down the aisle toward the center of the store. “Come on Izuna.”

“I’m not a dog,” Izuna protests, but follows along through the rows of shelving anyway. Tobirama hums dubiously and dodges out of the way of Izuna’s responding punch. “Rude!”

“You don’t have room to talk about manners. You poked me in my _strangulation bruise_ five minutes ago.”

He can’t see Izuna’s face with the man walking behind him, but he can almost feel him pouting. “You’re keeping me from my wife and my brother. I’ve started to forget what they look like!”

“We left two hours ago.”

“Two hours!” Izuna repeats earnestly as they reach the clerk’s desk. “Who knows what could have happened in two hours? Madara could have died! Touka could have killed—”

Tobirama sets the books on the desk with one hand, pushing the small stack closer to the clerk. He reaches back with the other, shoving Izuna several paces away. It doesn’t break his stride in the least. “—could have killed _Madara!_ How am I supposed to choose between my wife and my brother? They could have—”

The clerk, a gnomish woman with nut brown skin and laugh lines, carefully stood on a tall stool behind the counter, smiles at him before she starts looking the books over, checking them against a registry. “He’s certainly...excitable, isn’t he?”

“It’s his fifth birthday,” Tobirama confides, in a whisper just loud enough for Izuna to overhear. “He’s been looking forward to this for months.”

She laughs and glances behind him. Tobirama knows what she sees without needing to turn himself—Izuna grumbling by a shelf, prettier than he was handsome and a few hairs too short to be properly tall. The pace of her eyes stutters, and he knows even without turning that she’s seen the swords sheathed at Izuna’s hips, not quite hidden by the fall of his coat.

She smiles when she looks back to him though, eyes warier but kind. “Ten gold, and tell him congratulations for me then.”

Tobirama passes her the coins and tucks the books into one of his coat’s pockets. The weight instantly vanishes in the expanded interior. “Of course.”

He wonders if she’d be so willing to join him in his teasing if she knew about all the daggers concealed on Izuna’s person, but it’s a shallow curiosity and easily dismissed. He thanks her, heading out of the store with Izuna babbling in his wake.

Tobirama pays him no mind, drawing a long breath of fresh air as soon as the door shuts behind him. He lets it seep into him, brushing into all the dark and dusty places in his chest, filling them with sunlight and soft breezes.

This close to the ocean the wind still smells heavily of salt but, unlike the last couple months spent on their ship, it’s joined by other scents—freshly baked bread and flowers, the perfumes of people passing by at a brisk pace. It was pleasant, the assurance of so much _life_ around them after so long at sea.

He shakes off the heavy thoughts, tuning back into Izuna’s rambling, louder now that they’re outside.

“-ashirama could have been eaten by a tree! Or what if Touka is in jail again?” Izuna pauses to gasp at his own idea in faux-horror. “Will there even be anyone to return to when we make it back?”

Tobirama resists the urge to slap a hand over his mouth. That will only get him licked, and last time Izuna had done that Touka had jokingly badgered him about ‘trying to steal her husband’ for a week and a half.

He’d rather be strangled by another goliath than go through that experience again.

“Mito will _not_ let Touka into any bars today,” Tobirama reminds him instead. “She has a head wound.” Mito was always very careful when they had head injuries. __You all already have enough trouble thinking__ , she would say.

Tobirama...can't really disagree with that.

“I doubt Hashirama will be up talking to trees anytime soon either. He was exhausted yesterday,” he adds. He leaves out that Hashirama would have been far less tired if he hadn’t spent so long healing Madara’s crushed leg—Izuna no doubt remembers that well enough on his own.

Izuna winces. “Yes, that...that wasn’t our best day.”

A woman laughs on the other side of the street, the happy sound a poor overlay for the memories Izuna’s words bring up—hands sticky with blood and bone protruding from the skin, the smell of _meat_ as Madara screamed—

Tobirama sighs, letting out half of a tired laugh. “That’s a severe understatement of the situation, but yes. Not our best day.”

Conversation slowly turns to less serious topics, and they peruse the main streets for another half hour. Despite his earlier impatience, Izuna visibly brightens when they pass a tailor, the fine cursive on their sign proclaiming their ability to repair damage to magical clothing.

That reaction pales in comparison to his excitement when they pass by a bakery. Predictably, Izuna has a cloth satchel packed with doughnuts and other sweets swinging on his elbow by the time Tobirama redirects them toward their inn within the middle quarter of the town.

Izuna notices the change in direction almost immediately.

“So that’s fourteen there in that window—and there’s fifteen in the alley by the butcher’s...oh, six—wait, are we heading back?” Izuna breaks off his narration of the street cats they’re passing. He blinks and looks around, dazed, like he’s not quite sure where he is or how he’d gotten there.

“Yes,” Tobirama confirms.

Despite himself, he’s a bit disappointed by the abrupt end to Izuna’s mundane safari.

The man apparently had a keen eye for spotting cats.

“You’re finished shopping? I’m _free_?” Izuna visibly brightens at the prospect and Tobirama rolls his eyes. Izuna, for all his complaining, had bought more things than he had.

They exit the mouth of a thin side street, the large ferns on either side taking up so much space they walk through single file. It opens to the wide, sprawling road that borders the docks, a sharp contrast to the consistent bulk of buildings they’d been wandering through. In the distance, the noontime sun catches against the creamy sails of ships and the crests of waves, bouncing back at an almost painfully bright intensity.

“Yes, Izuna. You’re free from the shopping trip you _stalked_ me from the inn to participate in.”

“Is it really stalking if you know about it?” Izuna wonders, but doesn’t wait for him to answer, just shoots him a shameless grin. “Anyway, I’m just doing my job.”

“Your job?” Tobirama looks away from the thin crowds of people around them—the cold weather putting off most prospective loiterers—to frown at him.

Izuna tugs at his copy of the Earring of Whisper they all wear, the little silver hoop glinting in the sunlight for a moment before they turn another corner. “Madara heard you leaving your room this morning and insisted to me very loudly that,” he deepens his voice into a grumbling drawl that sounds precisely nothing like his brother, “ _the squishy wizard shouldn’t be out by himself. He’ll die. Again_.”

Tobirama glares halfheartedly. He’d be more insulted if there wasn’t the _smallest possible amount_ of truth to that assessment.

Izuna laughs at the look on his face. “It’s what he said!”

“He seems to have forgotten _I’m_ not the one who was recently turned to paste.”

“No, I’m pretty sure he remembers.” Izuna shakes his head, still chuckling. “He was extra pissed off that you woke him up when you left this morning.”

“If he wanted to room with someone else he should have mentioned it, I could have just stayed with Touka.”

He should have, even—he and Madara normally stayed together in deference to their respective married siblings, but it would’ve been better for Madara to room with someone who could sleep past dawn, as well as having healing abilities beyond ‘ _I could cauterize that,_ _if you want_ _?_ ’

That hadn’t occurred to him yesterday, not with the way his stomach had knotted itself up all the time Hashirama and Mito worked last night. The practicality of leaving Madara with someone else hadn’t been anywhere in his mind.

“You’re suggesting I let another man sleep with my wife?” Izuna’s faux-indignation breaks Tobirama from his solemn thoughts. “The scandal!”

“Yes. It’s my dearest wish to seduce my married cousin,” Tobirama says, as dryly as the statement deserves. “We’ll elope and live happily away from your foolishness.”

Izuna _cackles_ at that, full-blown head thrown back laughter that makes him stumble in the road while his eyes water. Tobirama has to grab him before he runs into a pair of unimpressed looking women.

“You’re a danger to the public,” he scolds. “And _you_ are the one that’s supposed to be controlling your feet.”

Izuna doesn’t respond, just slaps him on the shoulder a few times, laughing even as Tobirama pulls him onto the side street leading to their inn. His bruises (and his bruise’s bruises) protest the exertion but he tugs Izuna along anyway, grumbling.

“If I leave you in an alley to die, no one would blame me.”

Izuna, in the process of getting his feet back underneath him and wiping at his eyes, snickers. “You’re so eager to widow your cousin?”

Tobirama shrugs. “She can do better.”

He steps out of Izuna’s reach, but the man follows after him this time, landing a solid hit to his shoulder. Tobirama bites back a hiss—it wasn’t a good punch but, much as his entire body is already one persistent, encompassing _ache_ , it didn’t have to be. “You should leave that to your wife.”

Izuna punches him again. It lands on a bruise instead of next to one this time. The hiss escapes from between Tobirama’s clenched teeth. Izuna _tsk_ s at him, smug smirk nearly audible.

“That’s what you get for insulting my marriage.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your marriage,” Tobirama readily amends, “Mito did a good job. I was just insulting you.”

Izuna snorts, shaking his head. He reaches out a third time, hand clenched into a fist as though he intends to hit him again, but he only touches it to Tobirama’s arm, more contact than force.

“I should tell Madara about this,” Tobirama rolls his arm, listening to the grind of muscles and pop of bones. “Since he’s apparently so concerned about my well-being.”

He waits expectantly for Izuna to toss back some pointed, teasing defense of his brother—but it doesn’t come.

Instead, from the corner of his eye, he seesIzuna’s posture tense.

His stomach sinks.

He and Izuna—they’re years past murder at this point. They’re _family_ , as much as Tobirama had once doubted that was possible, as much as he regrets it whenever the man is being particularly annoying. They’re close. Izuna, in many ways, knows him just as well as Hashirama or Touka, and Tobirama knows him just as well.

That’s why seeing _that_ look on his face raises the hair on the back of Tobirama’s neck. His fingers twitch at his sides. That’s Izuna’s _serious conversation_ face, and Tobirama wants precisely no part of it.

(Izuna, of course, doesn’t care what he wants.)

They’re halfway through the small, walled garden that marks the back entrance to their inn (there is a reason they stay _here_ every time they come to Tanzaku-Gai, and that reason’s name is Hashirama) when Izuna reaches out and grabs his wrist.

“Wait.”

Tobirama curses under his breath, pulling at his arm.

It doesn’t budge.

Izuna clears his throat.

“What?” Tobirama hisses. Izuna doesn’t respond immediately, instead pulling him to the side of the empty courtyard. He only stops when they’re so close to the wall that some of the ivy’s leaves brush against Tobirama’s face, catching in his hair. He grimaces, a little at the sensation but mostly at this situation.

If he’d kept his mouth shut, if he’d said _anything else_ , then he could’ve been back in his room by now, reading his new book and listening to Madara grumble about being stuck in bed while Hashirama readies more spells.

Instead, he’s here: fondled by plants and, judging by the look on Izuna’s face, about to have an emotional conversation.

Izuna pokes him in the cheek, leaning in till Tobirama can’t see past the pale shape of his face, dark eyes honed in on his own. “You’re supposed to be smart, aren’t you?”

Tobirama sneers, tugging at his wrist again. “Yes, I am. And _yes_ , I am.” Izuna’s grip tightens further. In the far corner of his brain, Tobirama resigns himself to having yet another bruise.

“Well see I _thought_ so, but I’m not too sure anymore.”

“What do you want, Izuna?”

Izuna peers at him, the usual playful glint in his eyes joined by something serious that makes Tobirama’s stomach roil unpleasantly. He knows where this is going, as that look never bodes well for him. “You haven’t noticed?”

“ _What._ ”

Izuna pokes him more forcefully.

“Really?” he asks, voice vaguely pleading. “You cannot be this stupid.”

“I can’t answer a question you haven’t _asked_ , Izuna.” He knows _exactly_ what Izuna is talking about, and has absolutely no desire to talk about it.

Another poke.

Tobirama gears himself up to make a __Suggestion__ that Izuna leave him alone, but Izuna cuts him off before he gets the words out.

“Madara _likes_ you, dumb ass.” Izuna says. His tone makes it sound like it’s some kind of revelation, like Tobirama should be _surprised_.

He isn’t.

Izuna stares at his unchanging expression expectantly for a few seconds before realization sparks to life in his eyes, his mouth dropping open.

“You _knew._ ”

Tobirama doesn’t let himself tense up at the accusation—and it can’t be anything else, not with the way Izuna’s eyes have narrowed or the scowl he could’ve borrowed straight off Madara’s face—but he does frown back.

“I did.”

 _Of course_ he knew—Madara was not a subtle man.

There were only so many pointedly averted eyes when he changed, ill-timed blushes and awkwardly worded compliments he could ignore before vague suspicion become fact.

That had happened three months ago.

Madara was _not_ a subtle man.

“And you’re not doing anything about it?”

Tobirama returns the scowl. “No.”

“ _Why_ _not_?” Strangely, Izuna doesn’t sound angry. Tobirama blinks, staring at his face, still far too close to his own. The Uchiha isn’t even scowling anymore, he just looks...confused. Maybe a little concerned.

He...hadn’t expected that.

Izuna and Madara were protective of each other—the product, as Tobirama himself was all too familiar with, of losing the rest of their family. Madara had hissed and spit for weeks when Izuna had first expressed interest in Touka, practically growling whenever she dismissed his brother in favor of anyone or anything else.

It was actually worse once they were together—Madara glaring at them every time they set up camp like he was constantly ready for Touka to break up with Izuna. Eventually, he’d lightened up some but it was, even to this day, clear that he was very paranoid over how happy Touka made Izuna—and how potentially miserable she _could_ make him.

So Izuna _wanting_ Tobirama to talk with Madara, to possibly _be with_ Madara? That was...odd. Regardless, it’s not something Tobirama can do.

“That’s none of your business,” he says and there, that’s the anger he’d expected, the familiar wine red glare of a pissed off Uchiha. Real anger on Izuna looks different than it does on Madara, makes the younger brother smile rather than glower, a cold baring of teeth empty of the charismatic friendliness he normally wears like a cloak.

“He’s my brother. If he’s involved, it is my business.”

“It’s a good thing he’s not then, isn’t it? That means you can leave me alone.” Tobirama looks meaningfully down at Izuna’s hand wrapped around his arm, but the grip tightens rather than loosening. He curses, looking back up into Izuna’s eyes.

“Why?” Izuna asks, and his expression is almost a physical weight pressing down on Tobirama, intense in a way Izuna seldom lets shine through, content as he is with being playful and foolish and underestimated. Smart Tobirama may be but Izuna knows _people_ , and even he isn’t immune to that.

Tobirama sighs. He’s about as interested in having this conversation as he is in being decapitated but, if needs must…

“Nothing is going to happen, Izuna. He’ll get over it and—”

A harsh bark of laughter cuts him off and Izuna shakes his head, the long tail of his hair whipping behind him.

“ _Madara_? Get over something? Who do you think you’re talking about?” He asks, his smile a jagged cut across his face. It dulls itself a little when Tobirama’s only answer is to stare, wordlessly, back at him. “I’m not trying to protect Madara from you, not that he needs it.” Izuna lets go of his wrist, hand settling on his shoulder and squeezing. “I’m just asking you _why_. You’re my friend, no matter how much of an ass you are.”

Tobirama leans back and Izuna’s hand finally falls away from him. Part of him is tempted to walk away, to escape the conversation now that Izuna isn’t physically forcing him to have it.

The rest is very well aware that, even if Izuna doesn’t follow him inside or drag him back out here, there’s no way he’ll give up on having this conversation at one point. Better, he supposes, to get it over with now. He’d never been much for procrastination.

“It’s not going to happen,” he starts to say and then stops, swallowing. His mouth is suddenly very dry. “It’s not going to happen because it’s a terrible idea.”

Izuna’s smile drains away completely, his head tilting to the side. “What’s a terrible idea?” He asks and Tobirama frowns at him because there’s no way he didn’t understand that.

“Madara and I. It would never work.”

Izuna tuts, raising an eyebrow. “What? No, I’ve seen the way you two look at each other, you’d be perfect together.”

“You mean the heated glaring?” Tobirama retorts pointedly, and takes a step back from him. The Uchiha frowns but lets him go, consenting to the silent plea for space. “That sounds like it would make for an extremely healthy relationship.”

And Izuna is _staring_ at him now, instead of just looking, his expression uncharacteristically solemn. “You’ve thought about this,” he says, rather than asks.

Tobirama snorts. That’s a vast understatement of the sheer amount of headaches he’s given himself by either confronting or ignoring what could be between he and Madara. “I think about everything.”

“But you’ve _really_ thought about this,” Izuna repeats, like it means something. And maybe it does, because his eyes widen a little, like he’s realized something unexpected. “You _love_ him.”

Tobirama flinches but doesn’t deny it, not when Izuna is so much better at seeing through lies than he is at telling them.

“It’s not important,” he says instead, because it _isn’t_. Love isn’t important because isn’t _enough_. Relationships were fragile things for people like them—people who so often courted death, who were so often involved in things bigger and greater than themselves.

Their arguments were meaningless now—playful and toothless more often than not, cutting their tongues against each others’ thick skin—but if there was more between them than friendship?

When the stakes were higher, the consequences greater—what then?

Izuna’s face scrunches up, though he can’t tell whether it’s in confusion or distaste.

“Why?”

 _It doesn’t matter_.

“It would never work.” A muscle in Izuna’s jaw jumps at that response and the ten seconds of ensuing meaningful staring drag further elaboration from him. “We would _kill each other_ , which is generally frowned upon in relationships. At the very least our inability to properly communicate could drive the group apart,” Tobirama says, the last part admitted with the utmost reluctance.

He is proud of many things—his accomplishments and spell work, the bonds he’s managed to build with the group outside of Hashirama and Touka, the place he, his brother and cousin ( _sister_ ) have carved for themselves in the world, not an _inch_ of it given freely...his and Madara’s inability to simply _talk_ and _listen_ to each other is not one of them.

Strangely, his words make Izuna relax. “Ah,” he hums. “You _are_ an idiot.”

Tobirama, raw and worn and more tired from this conversation than he gets from most battles these days, sputters. “What?”

“It’s only the truth,” Izuna says, as if that’s remotely helpful at all.

“ _What_?”

“Two things,” Izuna lifts up a finger, holding it in his face. “One, _people don’t work that way_. Unless you do something genuinely terrible to Madara, I’m still going to be your friend. You are not getting rid of me that easily.” Another finger comes up. “Two, you are a _transmutation wizard_.”

Tobirama stares blankly, not sure what relevance that has. Izuna rolls his eyes. “You’re telling me _you_ are incapable of change?”

Despite himself, Tobirama snorts. “That’s _terrible_.” That was just like Izuna too, swerving wildly between emotional conversations, childish teasing and puns.

“It’s what you deserve,” Izuna fires back immediately and then, softer, slower as he pushes Tobirama a step toward the door. “ _Think_ about it. You aren’t _actually_ stupid, as good as your impression is. _Try_.”

He heads off into the inn, the door swinging open and releasing a wave of muted, meaningless chatter that sounds strange and foreign to Tobirama’s ears, after the intense conversation they’ve just had. Izuna shoots a look over his shoulder as the door closes, raising an eyebrow when he sees that Tobirama isn’t following him.

“ _Try_ ,” he says again, this time through Tobirama’s earring. The door swings shut, taking away both the chatter and Izuna himself.

Tobirama sighs and leans back against the stone wall of the garden, tilting his head to look up at the sky.

He has no... _disillusions_ about his own character—he was frequently irritable and often impatient when it came to others. More than that, he had trouble relating to other peoples’ feelings or issues. His was not a personality conducive to healthy relationships, and that wasn’t even starting on the problems Madara’s attitude would also cause between them.

For all Izuna’s encouragement, that was _undeniably_ true.

They could both change, yes, but there was no guarantee that it would be enough and, if it wasn’t, there was no point in trying.

Tobirama didn’t mind risks—if he did he wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t do what he did, wouldn’t be _alive_ today. But those were forced risks or ones with real rewards—there was no concrete gain to be had from trying to speak with Madara, to see if they could have a relationship. His own feelings were the only thing on the line and he was well used to ignoring those.

A muted hum from his earring drags Tobirama from his thoughts, quickly followed by a familiar voice. “ _Did my brother leave you dead in an alley or did you get lost in the inn_?” Madara sounds amused, probably because of his own joke.

Tobirama really shouldn’t find such arrogance attractive but—no one is perfect.

“ _I can give you directions_ ,” Madara continues, the offer made with such a tone of vague condescension that annoyance jolts Tobirama out off his enjoyment of the man’s voice through the enchantment, all kindled warmth and sleepy huskiness. Unfortunately, it was part of _Madara_.

Tobirama scowls, activating the spell on his own earring. “You seem to have lost brain cells along with your leg. I’m always perfectly sure of where I am.”

Madara scoffs at him. “ _Of course you are_. _And I’m perfectly sure that I still have two legs. We’ll see if the new one works once your damn brother lets me stand on it_.”

Tobirama’s own legs, unbidden, take him into the inn.

It’s not quite crowded yet but it’s filling up—guests coming down from their rooms even as locals wander in through the main door, both looking for a good lunch. He can see Izuna on the other side of the room, settling in with the rest of their group. Touka’s arm is thrown around him as she fiddles with his hair. Judging by the way he’s slumped over on the other side of the table, Hashirama has fallen asleep leaned against Mito’s shoulder.

They make a good sight—one that warms him up inside, feels like _home_ , like _belonging_ , but Tobirama heads for the stairs. He can join them later.

“I see you drove everyone away,” he comments under his breath as he goes, carefully speaking quiet enough that it doesn’t garner any onlookers.

“ _I had no part in it_ ,” Madara grumbles back. “ _They’re just leaving me up here to starve and waste away_.”

“Yes, and considering your delicate constitution it won’t take long.”

Madara growls incoherently at him and cuts contact, so Tobirama isn’t surprised when he opens the door to their room and something soft smacks firmly into his chest.

Tobirama catches the pillow and Madara, sprawled out on his bed with his healing leg propped up, smirks, looking disproportionately satisfied with himself.

“How...charming,” Tobirama observes. “I can see why they left you alone.” He sets the pillow at the foot of Madara’s bed, just out of his reach.

Madara scowls at him, obviously having noticed his ploy.

“Fucking rude wizards,” he growls, indignant enough that it makes Tobirama smile.

He unwinds his scarf from his neck and grabs the one rickety chair in the room, dragging it over to the side of Madara’s bed. Tobirama drops his cloak over it and smooths out the fabric, but when he sits and turns back to look at Madara the man is already staring at him.

Tobirama frowns back, confused. _What—_

But no, Madara is looking at his neck. Looking at the bruises there, ringed deep and dark around it.

Tobirama sighs.

They’ve already talked about this twice, which was two more times than they’d really needed to in his mind. Considering all that had happened _after_ they’d fought the goliaths, Tobirama had figured that Madara would have moved on by now. A mistake was a mistake after all, even if it had been rather painful on his end. He opens his mouth to say as much, but he doesn’t get the chance.

“I’m sorry,” Madara says, his eyes tilting down to look at his own blanket covered knees. “I should have been more careful.”

Tobirama pauses.

That’s…different.

Their previous talks had gone more along the lines of Madara grumbling about “stupid wizards being in the wrong place,” and “damn Senju, you need to wear actual armor,” his concern only buried deep, deep in his voice.

Tobirama had taken the words with the grains of salt they required—he and Madara were similar creatures, both too prone to pride to apologize easily, even when one was most needed.

Often _especially_ then.

It was the reason Tobirama was, very adamantly, not going to listen to Izuna’s advice.

But...perhaps...

“What?”

Madara glares at him for the question. Tobirama shouldn’t find the sight of it dear, but he does. Damnably so.

“I’m apologizing for throwing a fucking goliath at you!” Madara barks. His hands clutch at his bed sheets, fist quivering at the force of his grip. “For nearly _killing_ you!”

Tobirama can’t bring himself to do more than stare. Because this—

They don’t _do_ this, they don’t talk about this.

When he singes Madara with the edge of a fireball, he complains about the smell of burned hair, and Madara hisses and puffs and doesn’t tell him it’s alright. And Tobirama ignores how fast his heart beats, and the way his hands shake, and how much he wants to scream at the man to be more careful.

That isn’t who they are. That isn’t what they _do_.

And that last fight, before the island and the dragon and the wet crunch of bone, when Madara’s spell had thrown a goliath right into Tobirama’s cover—when the goliath had lifted him up and shook him and grinned at him with a mouth that smelled like raw meat, when Madara had cursed and lashed out and the goliath was gone in a plume of fire and smoke, when Tobirama had fallen to the ground and coughed and crawled and been thrown over Madara’s shoulder while the man complained about how “ _you’re so bad at catch, it’s just one fucking goliath_ ”—

Tobirama had thought that would be that.

Just another thing for one of them to regret, something else that they would refuse to talk about or apologize for or express concern over.

But now—now he isn’t so sure.

“I’m sorry,” Madara says again like he has no idea what he’s doing to Tobirama. “I shouldn’t have—” He snaps his jaw shut and shakes his head once, violent enough it whips his hair around his shoulders.

“I should have been more careful,” he repeats. “I _will_ be more careful.”

And Tobirama—

He thinks of sharp insults with no bite, and scowls that twitch and crack into smiles, and how much he would do for this ridiculous, _impossible_ man.

Tobirama sighs.

He looks at Madara and reaches out, for once not bothering to frown or glare to hide his fondness because, really, he’s risked more for Madara than this. And perhaps it is foolish and unnecessary and will end in screaming and Izuna threatening instead of consoling him but—perhaps it won’t.

Madara’s hand is well worn—scarred by fangs and claws and cuts, calloused by gripping his sword and hauling ropes on the ship. When he turns his hand and their fingers twine together, they fit perfectly.

“Yes, we will.”

**Author's Note:**

> **D&d Notes:  
> -Tobirama's mention of "Suggesting" something to Izuna is in reference to the spell Suggestion, which would force Izuna to comply with letting Tobirama go. (It would also be a wisdom save, which Izuna is only average at (unlike Madara, who has a wisdom of 7.)  
> -the Earrings of Whisper is an item created by Critical Role (I believe) in their first campaign. The earrings are made in sets and can be used to communicate with any/all of the others that wear them within a certain distance of each other. Madara woke up when Tobirama was leaving and yelled Izuna out of bed with his.  
> -The Uchiha brothers both still have red eyes, though I'm currently leaning towards the Sharingan not existing in this verse. They're just tieflings. 
> 
> **General Notes  
> Let me know if you liked it! This fic was somehow more trouble to write than every other fic I've posted _combined_ so I'm curious! Also, if anyone could give feedback on the formatting, I would appreciate it. I never really like the way my fics look physically but I'm unsure if it's fine and I'm just picky or if it would be easier to read if I structured it a bit differently?
> 
> Lastly, **[HERE](https://fiction-over-facts.tumblr.com/post/184722137562/a-land-so-wild-and-savage-character-detail-post)** is a post on my tumblr detailing all of their classes and why I chose them, if anyone is particularly curious about that.


End file.
